


he loves me, he loves me not

by stars_in_our_eyes



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Denial, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22541578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_in_our_eyes/pseuds/stars_in_our_eyes
Summary: He loves me.What Jane Seymour thinks about Henry, or thought.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 46





	he loves me, he loves me not

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this is shitty and short but i’m back!

If Jane Seymour knew one thing and one thing alone, it was that Henry had loved her.

Jane blocked all the yelling and crying and sometimes the hitting out of her mind, so that all that remained were those few, lovely days in which she could pretend to have a happy, normal family.

_He loves me._

She was everything he wanted her to be. The perfect wife, meek and demure and not filled with silly ideals like the last queen. At least that’s what the villagers said when they thought no one was listening.

Jane Seymour was listening.

_He loves me._

Now Jane sat surrounded by his other wives, convinced that she was different, that her relationship with Henry had been special. 

“She’s been through so much abuse from Henry and still thinks he loved her!” one of the queens shouted, pointing at Jane.

“He loved me,” Jane said weakly. “He was just... he just got a bit angry sometimes, that’s all.”

Yeah. Sure. A bit angry. No, Jane knew “a bit angry” entailed a little bit of shouting and an apology afterwards and that was not what Henry did. Henry screamed; Henry told her how worthless of a wife and a woman she was; Henry broke her with words. 

But she couldn’t say that. So she stayed silent and demure, same as always.

 _He never loved me._ The words hit her like a flood after centuries of drought.

Love wasn’t something that just sprung into existence via a child. Love was slow, creeping up on you like a shadow, until one day you looked at a person and realized you loved them. Love was not pain and tears and shouting and screaming. 

_He never loved me,_ she thought. _But I can love myself._


End file.
